Spotlight: The Second Act – Chapter 112: The Weight of the Contract

Chapter 112: The Weight of the Contract

As Min-jun stepped out of the meeting room, his legs began to tremble. It was an extremely subtle tremble, invisible to the outside world, but to him, it felt like an earthquake. When they reached the elevator lobby, Jun-ho grasped Min-jun’s arm, his fingers pressing down like a doctor checking for a pulse.

“You did well,” Jun-ho said in a voice so low it was almost inaudible, even in the empty hallway.

Min-jun didn’t respond. He had no words to say. The words he had spoken in the meeting room felt foreign, as if he had become an actor reciting someone else’s lines. The statement about understanding death had come from his mouth, but it didn’t belong to him.

“You’re the main character,” Jun-ho continued, his voice laced with something – joy, relief, or something else. “The main character of a Netflix drama.”

The elevator arrived, and several office workers stepped out, casting glances at Jun-ho and Min-jun. They recognized Min-jun, the rookie actor who had recently become a sensation, now cast as the main character.

Jun-ho entered the elevator, followed by Min-jun. As the doors closed, they were alone again, this time heading to the lobby. Jun-ho pressed the button for the first floor, not waiting for Min-jun to do so.

“The PD said the contract will arrive tomorrow, and Lee Soo-jin will sort out the basic terms,” Jun-ho said, his eyes fixed on the elevator floor.

“Hyung, back in the meeting room…” Min-jun started to say.

“Not now, let’s go outside,” Jun-ho interrupted, raising his hand. Again, he was aware of the camera above the elevator and the possibility of being overheard.

The elevator reached the lobby.

At a café near Gangnam Station, Jun-ho and Min-jun sat across from each other, two glasses of iced Americano between them. The table was empty, with only the coffee cups on it.

“I want to know how you feel,” Jun-ho said, his voice barely audible over the soft piano jazz playing in the background.

Min-jun asked, “What do you mean?”

“When the PD announced you as the main character,” Jun-ho clarified.

Min-jun picked up his coffee and took a sip, feeling the extreme chill as it passed down his throat, a reminder that he was still alive, that he could still feel.

“I don’t know,” Min-jun replied.

Jun-ho asked, “Aren’t you happy?”

Min-jun responded, “I don’t know what happiness is.”

Jun-ho’s face reflected his exhaustion, as if trying to wake himself up. “You’re the main character. You’ve achieved this. Everything you’ve endured for four years, all the rejections, the hardships, the neglect – it’s all over now. It’s a new beginning.”

Min-jun simply nodded, feeling the weight of Jun-ho’s words.

“You’ve made it through everything, and now you’re the main character. But don’t you feel any joy?”

Jun-ho’s voice trembled, ever so slightly, as he spoke.

Min-jun didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at his chest, where his heart was beating, though he couldn’t quite grasp what that beat meant.

“Hyung,” Min-jun said.

“Last night, you told me you’d save me, that you wouldn’t let me go,” Min-jun continued.

Jun-ho’s expression changed, his face turning pale as if all the blood had been drained from it.

“What are you doing now, hyung? Did you really want me, or was I just part of your plan?” Min-jun asked, his voice laced with confusion and doubt.

The café music continued, a romantic piano jazz, but the silence between them was starkly real.

“You being the main character is what I wanted,” Jun-ho said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Min-jun questioned, “Is that really true? Did you want me, or did you want something through me?”

Jun-ho placed his hand on the table, his fingers trembling. It was a tremble of fear, or perhaps anger.

“You’re the main character now. You decide,” Jun-ho said, his hand retreating.

Later, at 3:47 PM, Min-jun was summoned to Lee Soo-jin’s office at The Star Entertainment. Jun-ho waited in the lobby below. This time, Min-jun went alone.

Lee Soo-jin’s office was spacious, with one wall made entirely of glass, offering a view of the Gangnam cityscape. Min-jun felt tiny in the midst of that grandeur.

“You’ve become the main character, I hear,” Lee Soo-jin said, sitting behind her high-backed chair, exuding an air of authority.

“Yes, ma’am,” Min-jun replied.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Thank you,” Min-jun said, unsure how to express his emotions.

Lee Soo-jin laughed, a laugh that wasn’t quite joyful. “Thank you? You’re an odd actor. Most would say they’re happy or thrilled.”

She handed Min-jun a thick folder containing the contract. As he took it, he felt the weight of it, as if his life was contained within those pages.

The first page detailed the contract period – two years, which seemed like an eternity. The second page mentioned the salary – 5 million won per month, which seemed too little. The third page outlined the terms, a complex web of responsibilities, obligations, and restrictions.

“Look at this,” Lee Soo-jin said, pointing to the fifth clause. “The company’s instructions must be followed. You must participate in all planned activities and adhere to the company’s image management standards. Any violation will result in a penalty of 500 million won.”

Min-jun read it, his voice barely audible. “You’re now a company asset. Your image, your time, your voice – everything belongs to the company. In return, you become the main character. This is the deal.”

As Min-jun delved deeper into the contract, he came across more clauses. The seventh clause stated that the actor must not damage the company’s reputation through any behavior, including acting, public statements, personal relationships, or SNS activities. The eighth clause warned that refusal to follow the company’s instructions would result in immediate termination of the contract and a penalty. The ninth clause mentioned that if the actor’s health or mental state became an issue, the company reserved the right to replace them.

By the time Min-jun reached the last page, his hand was trembling. Extremely subtly.

“If you sign this, your life will change drastically,” Lee Soo-jin said. “This contract can give you everything or take everything away. You have to choose.”

Min-jun looked at the last page, the signature line staring back at him like an empty void waiting to be filled.

“Can I have a pen?” Min-jun asked, though he wasn’t sure if he was ready to sign.

Later, at 6:12 PM, Min-jun sat in a café, alone this time. The contract was in his bag, weighing heavily, like his life was inside it. His phone rang, Jun-ho’s name on the screen.

“Where are you?” Jun-ho asked.

“At a café,” Min-jun replied.

“Which one?”

“Near Sinlim Road.”

“Is the contract with you?”

“Yes, it’s in my bag.”

“Did you sign it?”

“No.”

There was a silence, followed by Jun-ho’s breathing.

“Go home and don’t meet anyone or say anything today.”

Min-jun put his phone down, looking at the coffee in front of him, the ice slowly melting away, like his decision.

He glanced at the wall mirror and saw himself, pale and tired, with a face that seemed to belong to someone else. Who was this person? An actor named Min-jun, or someone trying to become one, or someone refusing to be one? He couldn’t tell.

At 8:23 PM, Min-jun returned to his semi-basement studio. The black mold on the ceiling seemed to have grown, like his life spreading out in unknown directions. His phone rang again, this time an unknown number. He hesitated, then didn’t answer it. A text message arrived, lengthy and unexpected.

“Min-jun, it’s your mother. I saw the news about you being cast as the main character in a Netflix drama. I’m so proud of you. Your father would be proud too if he were here. I miss you, and I want to see you. Please.”

Min-jun felt a lump in his throat as he read the message. His mother, whom he hadn’t seen in years, was reaching out now that he was successful.

At 11:47 PM, Min-jun was still awake, reading the contract again, page by page, as if the words might change. He came across the fifth clause once more.

“If you sign this contract, you’re no longer your own,” a voice inside him whispered.

Who was he, then? The contract provided the answer – a company asset, a possession.

Min-jun put the contract aside, slowly, as if handling something extremely dangerous. He looked up at the ceiling, where the black mold continued its slow march towards him.

At 11:52 PM, there was a knock at the door, rapid and insistent. “Min-jun, open the door!”

It was Jun-ho, his voice urgent, his face pale and drawn when Min-jun opened the door.

“Where’s the contract?” Jun-ho asked, his breathing heavy.

Min-jun pointed to the bed. Jun-ho rushed over, picked up the contract, and began to read it with an intensity that made Min-jun feel like his life was being read.

“This contract is extremely dangerous. It will destroy you,” Jun-ho said, his voice firm and resolute.

Min-jun asked, “But why are you saying this now, hyung? You told me this was an opportunity, a new start.”

Jun-ho’s expression changed, a mix of regret and realization. “I’m sorry, Min-jun. I pushed you into this. I sold you a dream. I…I was wrong.”

Min-jun saw the tremble in Jun-ho’s hands, the fear or anger in his eyes, and it felt like his own.

As they spoke, Jun-ho revealed a shocking truth – the contract was with a company run by his former boss, a man Jun-ho had dealings with in the past. The contract was not what it seemed; it was a trap.

With a determined look, Jun-ho tore the contract into pieces, the sound of ripping paper filling the silence.

“You must not sign this contract, Min-jun. Never.”

Min-jun looked at the torn contract, the fragments of paper on the floor, and then at the mold on the ceiling. It seemed to have stopped its relentless march towards him.

Perhaps, Min-jun thought, he was no longer afraid of it because he finally understood who he was – not a company asset, but Min-jun, an individual with his own path to forge.